


Best in Show

by PetulantPanda



Category: Dog show - Fandom, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Betrayal, Biracial Character, Child Abuse, Discussion of Abortion, Dogs lots of dogs - Freeform, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/F, F/M, Family Feels, First Love, Forced Pregnancy, Gen, Interracial Relationship, Lack of Communication, Longing, Lotura - Freeform, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Physical Abuse, Racism, Reconciliation maybe, Unwanted Pregnancy, you want angst? Cause this is how you get angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-06 12:34:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15886155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetulantPanda/pseuds/PetulantPanda
Summary: Allura and Lotor are dog show royalty, darlings of the ring in this alternate universe set in the world of licensed AKC dog shows. They are young, beautiful, and deeply in love with each other. So why, when the story opens, are they living separate lives in separate cities? Love, passion, betrayal all set in the cutthroat world of professional dog show handlers is what’s in store.





	1. Live Alone

**Author's Note:**

> This is my love letter to two things I adore; dog shows and Lotura.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allura Castle meets Katie Holt at a dog training class.

Allura glanced at the crowd milling about the grocery store parking lot, then glanced at her phone to determine the time. It was right before 6, so she took the show lead off of her puppy and placed him carefully into his travel crate, leaving the hatch up on her van so he wouldn’t get overheated. She pulled her long white hair up into a ponytail, securing it with the hair tie she wore on her wrist, then pulled a folding grooming table from the back of her van. She set the table up in the parking lot, locking the legs in place. Now she turned her attention to the small group gathered there.  
“Welcome to the Altea Kennel Club conformation class,” she said in her mellifluous, but commanding, voice. The assembled group stopped chatting with each other, all eyes focused on Allura;  
all except Adam and Shiro, who, as regular attendees and close friends with Allura, had heard her introduction many times before. 

“For those of you who are new, I am Allura, President of the kennel club, and your instructor for this evening’s class. Is anyone here a novice?”

Only one hand raised, a tiny hand belonging to a small young woman with a rowdy miniature dachshund on the end of an obviously brand new show lead. 

“I’m Pidge,” she offered, “And this is Kaiser.” 

“Welcome, Pidge and Kaiser. Just watch everyone else, and follow my instructions. Feel free to ask questions, and if you wait for a few moments after class, I’ll get you some information about entering shows and joining the kennel club, if you’re interested.” Allura smiled at the girl and the puppy that was now trying to eat Pidge’s shoe laces. 

“The chalk square on the ground is your ring, the entrance is there.” She pointed to a spot on the ground where she had scribbled the word “gate” in pink sidewalk chalk. Allura then walked to the center of the ring and looking at the great size differences in the attendant dogs, stated, “Big dogs in the front.”

The group shuffled themselves into a line of sorts, and began to enter the area designated as the ring. Leading the line was a young man she recognized from the shows- she thought his name was Lance- with a gangly Irish Wolfhound, followed by Shiro and his impeccably groomed English Setter, Galaxy. Following them were various dogs arranged more or less in order of descending size, with owners she knew from the kennel club or recognized from local shows. Bringing up the end was Adam, with a sassy young French Bulldog, followed enthusiastically by Pidge and her equally enthusiastic dachshund pup. 

“Stack your dogs,” Allura instructed, mostly for Pidge’s benefit, as the other owners already had their dogs presented in a show pose. “Good job, Pidge!” Allura was surprised that the novice exhibitor already had her dog stacked perfectly, and was now standing in front of Kaiser, baiting him with a bit of liver to encourage a lively and interested expression.  
“I’ve watched a lot of shows on tv,” Pidge explained. “I’ve just never had a dog until now.” 

Allura smiled at the girl, then ascertaining that the dogs were all nicely posed, lifted her hand and waived it in a circle. “Once around,” she ordered, and the dogs and owners began their trip around the ring, stopping where they each began. The large dogs were already stacked and baiting by the time the smallest had made their way around. 

Allura walked to the corner of the ring nearest the start of the line, and began to examine the Irish wolfhound. First she looked at him stacked, baiting well considering that he was little more than a puppy. She moved to his head then, noting his eye color, the set of his ears, and his general expression. She then moved her hands towards his head, and his owner stepped to his side, ensuring Allura free access to the dog. She ran her hands along his skull, feeling the prominence of his occiput, then opened his mouth to check his dentition. She then moved to the wolfhound’s side, running her hands along his top line and underline, along his croup and stifle, and lastly checked to ensure he had two normally descended testicles. Here she stopped, and looked at the owner, who grimaced slightly. “I’m hoping the other one drops soon, because he’s one of the finest I’ve ever bred.” 

“Here’s hoping,” commiserated Allura. She stepped back from the dog, then standing in the corner of the ring nearest the beginning of the line, pointed to the corner diagonal from where she stood, saying, “Down and back, please.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” the young man replied, with a small grin that matched the twinkle in his brown eyes. Gathering the brown leather lead in his left hand, he gave a slight tug that jingled the fine silver slip collar around the massive young dog’s neck. He made an encouraging cluck at his dog, and away they went at a measured trot designed to show the judge the dog’s soundness coming and going. When the pair reached the opposite corner, they turned and trotted back to where Allura stood, stopping at just the right moment so that his perfect stance and ears could be seen clearly.  
“This is a truly fine puppy. Once around, please.” Again gathering the lead, handler and dog trotted around the ring, stopping when they reached the end of the line. 

Allura moved onto the next dog, Shiro’s setter, repeating her examination and having the dog gait down and back, then once around. Shiro and Galaxy were poetry in motion, an absolute joy to watch, and Allura said as much when Shiro completed the down and back. Shiro smiled at her compliment, but replied, “You just love him because you’re his godmother.” And then they trotted off, steps perfectly matched, Galaxy moving out ahead of Shiro and hitting the end of the lead as though he was in the group ring at a major show rather than in a parking lot training class. 

There were 7 more dogs to examine: a German Shepard, a flat coat retriever, a Samoyed with a blown coat, an immaculate Bedlington terrier, an English springer spaniel that tried to bite when she lifted its lips to examine its teeth, an engaging Cocker spaniel, and Adam’s black Frenchie that did its best to kiss Allura as she examined it on the table. Then it was Pidge’s turn to show Kaiser. 

Without awaiting instruction, Pidge placed Kaiser on the table and had him perfectly stacked by the time Allura was done with the French bulldog. Allura smiled at the short haired young woman, and began to examine the young dog. Pidge had definitely been working with her puppy, and they both behaved as though they were dog show veterans. When Pidge took Kaiser down and back and around , Allura was struck by the ease with which Pidge showed her dog. When the tiny dachshund was back in place at the end of the line, Allura again looked at the dogs stacked and baiting to their owners. Then, “Once around again,” and around they went. “1,2,3,” Allura said, pointing to Galaxy, then the Bedlington, and then the flat coat retriever. Although it wasn’t an actual show, or even a sanctioned match, Allura had added placements to the class at the request of the participants. 

Allura supposed giving placements in a training class was also good training for the handlers, as those who didn’t place tried to maintain a pleasant demeanor in the face of defeat; after all, complaints about judging could get a handler in hot water at a licensed show. After placements were announced, the parking lot cleared out quickly. Dogs were loaded into crates, and given water, or allowed to relieve themselves on the grass surrounding the parking lot. Allura handed out plastic bags to the owners who hadn’t come prepared, to insure that they would always have permission to train here. Shiro brought Galaxy for a quick smooch and cuddle before loading him into his custom conversion show van, and Adam shoved the Frenchie puppy into her arms while he cleaned up after the wiggly little dog. 

Allura giggled as the chunky pup tried its best to lick off her lip gloss. “What have you decided to name this little goblin?” she asked when Adam came to claim him.  
Adam rolled his eyes and looked at his fiancée. “Shiro keeps calling him Black, but I think it’s a terrible name.” Shiro ruffled Adam’s hair, and gave him a quick hug. 

“His registered name is Garrison’s Black Paladin, so I think Black is a good name,” Shiro stated. Adam huffed at him, but kissed Shiro’s cheek to let him know he wasn’t serious. 

“Why don’t you call him Pal?” Allura suggested. Both men turned beaming smiles in her direction, and said in unison, “Pal is the perfect name!”  
After hugs all around, and a reminder that they were having dinner after next weekend’s show, Shiro and Adam loaded the newly christened Pal into his crate next to Galaxy, and off they went. 

Allura smiled, pleased that Shiro and Adam were so happy together. She had known Shiro for years, and had dated him briefly before both decided they would be better as friends. She had introduced him to Adam at a dog show two years earlier, and the pair was inseparable almost immediately. 

Shaking herself out of her reverie, Allura looked back to the spot where her grooming table had stood, but it was gone. She didn’t remember putting it away, and yet it wasn’t there. Had someone taken it while she was talking to her friends? She turned back to her van, suddenly afraid that someone might have taken Solo from his crate while she was distracted, but the puppy was sleeping peacefully in his pink and white blankets. It was then that Allura noticed that the table had been collapsed and placed in her van, though not in the place where she normally stored it. 

Suddenly, her confusion was interrupted by a perky voice asking if she had a minute. Pidge came from around the side of Allura’s van, Kaiser sleeping in her arms. “I hope you don’t mind,” Pidge chirped, “But I put your table away while I was waiting to talk to you.”  
Allura was touched by the smaller woman’s action, and thanked her.  
“Oh yes, the show entry information, and the kennel club application,” Allura said, reaching for a folder in the side pocket of her van. 

Pidge took the proffered papers, but clearly wanted something else. “Can I ask you to critique our performance?” she asked. Allura swallowed hard, but she knew that Pidge would know soon enough. 

“First thing, you have a lot of potential. You have a great ring presence and you do an excellent job with Kaiser, so I think you will do very well as a handler.”

Pidge assessed Allura’s demeanor, and after a moment asked, “But?”

Allura wished she didn’t have to say this to someone who clearly wanted to show her dog, but if she didn’t, someone else, probably a judge or another exhibitor, would. “But...Kaiser is a lovely pet.” She paused, then jumped in. “Kaiser isn’t show quality. You’ll never win with him. I’m so sorry.” Allura glanced at the other girl, bracing herself for anger, or gods forbid, tears. Instead, Pidge had a big smile on her face as she hugged her snoozing puppy.  
“I know that,” she giggled. “I just plan to practice with him while I save up to buy a show quality dog. I’m hoping to find an Italian Greyhound, but I don’t know if there are any reputable breeders in this area.”

Now it was Allura’s turn to smile. She reached into the pile of blankets in the crate and pulled out Solo, her very sleepy Italian Greyhound puppy. Solo yawned, and shook his perfect little ears, then licked Allura’s nose. Suddenly, there were tears in Pidge’s eyes.

“Oh my god! Can I hold him? Where did you get him? Do they have any more?” The tiny woman was practically jumping up and down with excitement, reaching out one small hand to stroke Solo’s glossy black coat. 

“Let me give you my number,” Allura told the excited young woman. “We should talk about Italian Greyhounds.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. This au assumes American Kennel Club (AKC) rules govern, because that’s what I know about.  
> 2\. AKC licensed clubs must perform public service, and many clubs do this by offering free conformation classes that the public can attend to learn to show their dog.  
> 3\. A “blown coat” is a coat that is thin and ratty looking, usually as a result of seasonal or hormonal changes.  
> 4\. All male dogs being exhibited must have two testicles normally descended in the scrotum. Young dogs often pull one or both testicles back up inside their bodies when they are being examined, which will result in a disqualification. Three disqualifications result in a permanent ban from the show ring.  
> 5\. Only happy dogs make good show dogs, so show dogs are among the best cares for and most indulged animals on the planet.  
> 6\. Please ask questions or leave comments or kudos, if you are so inclined.  
> 7\. I can’t find anyone to read this so I hope it’s ok.  
> 8\. Chapters 2 and 3 are almost complete, and they contain Lotor!  
> 9\. The chapter title is from the song “Live Alone” by Franz Ferdinand.  
> 10\. Thank you so much for reading this. It means the world to me.


	2. Wake up Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lotor finds a white haired beauty in his bed; Ezor and Zethrid get an eyeful; Lotor deals with his father.

He knew the alarm was set for 4:30 a.m. because he had set it the night before, as he did every night when he went to bed at 9:00. Yet, when it started screeching at him before the sun had yet to breech the horizon, he was irritated, grouchy, and completely out of sorts. Groggy, he rolled from the middle of the king sized bed to reach a plastic lazer pistol resting on the nightstand, then aimed it at the alarm clock on the other side of the room. Immediately, the screeching stopped, and he buried his face into the squishy pillows surrounding his head. 

The alarm gave him only brief respite, and after the allotted 8 minute snooze period, began screeching anew. Again he aimed the toy lazer at the target, stopping the ear splitting noise. Still not resigned to his fate, Lotor Galra rolled back into the middle of the massive bed, this time finding his face buried in a swath of long white hair, similar to his own. He sighed, and without even opening his eyes, began grousing. 

“Back again, you naughty little bitch? You know you are not welcome in my bed while you’re in this state.”

He opened his eyes then, looking down the length of the slender body pressed as close as possible to his. “And, you’ve removed your panties. Great.”

With a groan, the tall, well built man stretched, then sat up, swinging his long legs over the edge of the bed. The naughty bitch in question rolled onto her back, adorably cocking her head to the side, tongue lolling from between her slender jaws. Lotor grabbed her collar and gave it a tug, making her stand up. “Get off my bed, you rotten bitch,” he said, but his tone was indulgent as he stroked the long silky white hair on her head. The Afghan hound was beside herself, and she began to wag her elegant, barely curled tail excitedly. 

“By the ancients, Princess!” He exclaimed, as the unmistakable signs of a canine in season were strewn all over his down comforter. “Well, this is gross. Come on, let’s go find your girl things. And stop wagging your tail!”

Lotor and his dog made their way into the kitchen, where he found the remains of the garment and sanitary pad she had been meant to wear throughout her season ripped to pieces on her plush bed. Lotor turned and gave her a disappointed look. Princess had the decency to look chagrined. Lotor took a slender lead and snapped it to the dog’s specially made sighthound collar, and led her down a set of stairs to the kennel. 

“I’m sorry,” he told her, as he placed fresh water, a slice of dried chicken, multiple blankets, and several chew toys into the 10’x12’ kennel with her. He removed her collar and leash, hanging them on a hook near the kennel. “You’re in isolation until I find someone with more bitch britches in your size.” Princess looked unconcerned as she chewed her chicken jerky. Lotor turned the small television in the room to Animal Planet before he left, closing the door behind him, and placing a “Bitch in Heat” sign on the door. 

Once in the alcove separating the isolation wing from the main kennel, Lotor got room deodorizer from a cabinet and began liberally spraying the air. The upcoming shows were really important, and he wasn’t risking any of his male dogs refusing to eat or generally freaking out if they got a whiff of the aphrodisiac Princess was wafting about. He decided to leave the spray out on the counter so that his kennel help would remember to use it as well. Then he turned his attention to making a fresh pot of coffee, knowing that Ezor and Zethrid would be arriving soon. 

Just as the delectable aroma of coffee began to help clear his still somewhat cloudy head, the door from the main kennel was thrown open wide, the chatter and teasing voices announcing the arrival of his two longtime friends and employees. The dogs began to howl and yelp seeing their caretakers arrive, but neither Lotor nor the girls seemed fazed by the cacophony. 

“Good morning, ladies,” he drawled, his voice still sleepy and bedroom sexy. The two women stopped talking, and stared at him with assessing looks. 

“Well damn,” said Zethrid. “Ezor, you were right. I owe you ten bucks.” 

Lotor raised a questioning eyebrow, and both girls started laughing. 

“Zethrid bet you were a boxers guy, but I bet boxer briefs. So I win. Nice drawers, boss man.”  
Lotur realized belatedly that in his hurry to secure Princess, had wandered into the kennel clad only in a pair of blue and green striped boxer briefs that did little to downplay his impressive endowment. 

“Stars,” he said, totally defeated by the morning. He turned to ascend the steps, and Zethrid let out a loud wolf whistle. 

“Shut up,” he growled, but he was as amused by this unexpected turn of events as were they. “Quit looking at my butt,” he added as he heard Ezor comment on its shapely and appealing appearance. 

“Stop walking around in your britches if you don’t want us to notice,” his friend retorted. 

Lotor gave a sexy little wiggle as he reached the top stair, which made both women dissolve into paroxysms of laughter. He grinned, then shut the door so he could have privacy to put himself together in preparation for another busy day.  
..........

After turning off the still screeching alarm clock, Lotor slipped out of his underwear and into the shower. Finishing his morning ablutions, he dressed in the jeans and light blue polo style shirt he wore every day unless he was at a show. His kennel name- Galra Kennels, LLC - was tastefully embroidered on the upper left of the shirt. His shirt neatly tucked in, he slipped on white socks and nearly white canvas trainers. His long white hair was still damp, and he ran a brush carelessly through the strands that always obliged him by falling into place perfectly.

Grimacing at his now stained comforter, he folded it into a manageable square, then placed it at the front door so he would remember to take it to the dry cleaners. Out of habit, he made his bed, as well as he could with no coverlet. Now he just needed a large bowl of Frosted Flakes followed by a very tall cup of coffee and he could deal with the rest of the day.  
...........

Ezor and Zethrid had already fed all 32 dogs currently in residence, and were now changing out the water buckets by the time Lotor reappeared, coffee in hand. 

“Paperwork and phone calls first,” he told them. “Go ahead and bathe the three going home today, and I should be done by then.” 

Both young women nodded. They knew the routine, and he trusted them completely. He hated this part of the job, much preferring to be hands on in the kennel, bathing and grooming and training. However, as the owner of the kennel and a professional handler responsible for the show careers of numerous dogs, he had to handle payroll and taxes, send out invoices, pay bills, order supplies, schedule deliveries, and contact the owners with updates on their dogs. 

His office was a moderately sized room directly off of the kennel, and though it had a door, it was rarely closed. It was furnished sparsely, with a large utilitarian metal desk and a comfortable chair, as well as a filing cabinet and an additional oversized chair for guests. The walls were lined with framed show photos, two walls dedicated to his numerous Best in Show wins, and a third showcasing his many Best in Specialty Show wins. There was a small bare window that looked out onto an herb garden that Zethrid had started a few years earlier. He noticed that the mint and parsley were flourishing this year. 

45 minutes later, he was done with the paperwork, and while he wanted nothing more than to go work with the girls in the kennel, he knew he had a few more items to deal with. The first was tracking down new seasonal garments for Princess. 4 phone calls later, he found a local vendor with 3 pairs in her size, and he ordered all three pairs, arranging to pick them up later that day. After answering several text messages and emails from owners inquiring about their dogs’ progress and happiness, he leaned back in his chair, stretching to relieve the tension in his neck and back. He sat there for a few moments, dreading the final task. 

He glared at his phone, wishing he did not have to make this call, but there was really no getting out of it. After 3 rings he considered hanging up, but before he could act on that thought, the phone was answered. 

“Hello, son,” boomed his father. “How have you disappointed me today?” The old man laughed heartily at his comment, and Lotor was immensely grateful that the phone meant he didn’t have to see his father in person. 

“Happy birthday, Father,” Lotor said flatly, ignoring his father’s disparaging remark. 

“It would be a happy birthday if you told me you’d gotten a real job and weren’t still playing around with dogs,” was the not unexpected response. Lotor sighed, and braced for what was coming next. 

“It would be a really happy birthday if you told me you were getting married and giving me some grand babies, that would make it really happy. It’s been how many years since that girl dumped you? You should have gotten another one by now.”

Lotor was fairly certain his father was still pontificating about how useless Lotor was as a son when he ended the call, but frankly, he was past caring. He made this yearly call to placate his mother, for whom he still held some affection. If not for her, he would never speak to his father willingly. 

All tasks completed, Lotor stood up, grabbed his car keys, let the girls know he was going to run errands, and strode out into the cool, breezy, sunshine of the late April morning. Today was definitely a top down day, he decided, sliding into the driver’s seat of his Mercedes convertible. Seat belt fastened, mirrors checked, sunglasses in place, heavy metal playlist selected, he pulled out of the driveway for the forty minute drive to pick up the items he had ordered earlier that day. He could have easily asked the girls to run this errand, but after talking to his father, he thought a drive and some really loud music might do him some good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Dog shows are exciting, and even glamorous at the more elite levels, but the time between dog show weekends is spent on mundane tasks. 
> 
> 2\. Many professional handlers have other jobs to pay the bills. 
> 
> 3\. Running a successful kennel isn’t possible without top notch kennel help.
> 
> 4\. I’ve changed the rating to mature, due to mature themes coming in the next chapters. Whether it changes again depends on whether I can write explicit depictions. I have no idea as of yet. 
> 
> 6\. Afghan hounds do not actually come in white, but for purposes of this fic, they do. 
> 
> 7\. The chapter title is from the song “Wake Up Alone,” by Amy Winehouse. 
> 
> 8\. Thank you for reading this.


	3. Alone, Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback to the halcyon days when love was enough and anything seemed possible.

They had been “the” Jr. Showmanship power couple, a designation that suited them. Two of only a handful of poc in the dog show world, they were a striking pair, both with deep brown skin and long white hair. Lotor was tall and lean, a head and a half taller than the slender, graceful Allura. They were two of the finest Juniors in the sport, always vying for first and second place, the darlings of the ring. They both moved effortlessly, their dogs were always perfectly trained and groomed, their show attire impeccable. They could intelligently answer questions posed by judges regarding the dogs they handled, and both could flawlessly complete even the most esoteric of ring patterns. They were often seen together outside of the ring as well, so it was no surprise to anyone when they began dating; they were dog show royalty, a prince and princess. Other exhibitors began calling them “Lotura.” 

It was even less of a surprise when they both became professional handlers even prior to aging out of juniors. After all, Allura came from a well known and well regarded dog show family, and Lotor had trained from the age of 7 under the incomparable breeder/owner/handler known to the entire dog show world as Miss Dayak. Theirs would be the ultimate dog show fantasy, a modern day fairytale: courtship, marriage, wealthy clients, babies, and eventually, all around judging licenses for both. Happily ever after was well within their grasp, and they had the drive and talent and love for each other to achieve it. 

What no one had seen coming was the betrayal that cleaved them from each other, leaving their dreams shattered. Many in the show world referred to the breakup as “Camelot going down in flames,” and most were saddened by it. But not everyone. There are gremlins and goblins and witches in many fairy tales, and this one was no exception.  
..........

“Lotor?” Allura was perched on a folding chair under the awning of the motor home loaned to them for the duration of the Daibazaal Dog Show circuit by Lotor’s mentor. She had stripped off her show clothes as soon as they had finished for the day, and was now comfortable in a pale pink sundress and white sandals, her hair free from it’s tidy bun, flowing over her bare shoulders, almost down to her waist. Though her fingernails were unpainted - many judges frowned on painted nails - her toenails were the same shade of pink as her dress. The dogs traveling with them to these shows had all been fed and walked, and for the next few hours, they were free to relax. 

“I’ll be there in a minute chère,” Lotor called to her through the screen door. His words were followed a moment later by the sound of a blender. Allura grinned, knowing that sound meant he was making something frozen and fruity. 

“Get the door for me, princess ,” he requested, and she hopped out of her chair to acquiesce, the flared skirt of her dress swirling around her slender thighs. Lotor stepped out of the motor home holding two of the four crystal goblets she had won just a few hours earlier, each filled with a bright red frozen confection. Allura noticed that while he had removed his tie and suit coat, he was still wearing his pale blue oxford shirt and khaki trousers. His dress shoes had been replaced with more comfortable slip ons, his sleeves rolled up, his collar unbuttoned. She loved that color blue on him, loved the way it highlighted the blue of his eyes. His long white hair, always braided neatly for shows, was loose. In her eyes, there had never been any man more beautiful. 

“Strawberry daiquiris, in honor of my baby’s 21st birthday, and her phenomenal Best in Show win at one of the toughest shows on the circuit,” he said, handing her one of the goblets with a flourish. 

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she replied, standing on tiptoe to kiss him before perching again in her chair, tucking her legs underneath her body. Lotor smiled at her, wondering for not the first time how he had gotten so lucky. Allura Castle, the beautiful, brilliant Allura Castle was as much in love with him as he was with her. He pulled the second folding chair close to hers, and sprawled in it. Allura watched him try to get comfortable in a chair that was really too small for his long, lean body, and suggested that maybe they would be more comfortable on the picnic blanket she had spread out earlier. 

Lotor adjusted his frame again, finally finding a somewhat comfortable position. “I’m good,” he said, “But thank you for asking.” He took a sip of his drink, then leaned towards her. “I think that you being so concerned for my comfort deserves another kiss.” 

Allura leaned towards him, pressing her lips to his, gently at first, but then with more intensity as his tongue teased along her lower lip, met hers, then played along the perfect curve of her upper lip. Though they were surrounded by hundreds of other R.V.s in a field adjacent to the dog show grounds, for that moment it was just the two of them. For a moment, the sounds made by hundreds of other people and thousands of dogs in ex-pens or being walked around the show grounds faded into the background as they concentrated each on the other. 

“Ahem.”

Somewhat reluctantly the pair separated and turned their attention to the person who had interrupted their kiss. Neither of them knew the blonde girl standing before them, but they recognized both her outfit - daisy dukes and a tank top that revealed a scandalous amount of side boob and lack of a bra - and the dreadful animal she had at the end of her lead. 

“Ah, said Lotor, “The dog that peed on my leg this morning.” The animal in question was at that moment peeing on one of the three exercise pens they had set up in front of the motor home. Allura was grateful that their client dogs were currently resting comfortably in the air conditioned van parked next to Miss Dayak’s motor home. She didn’t want to have to bathe anyone else tonight. 

Allura’s smile was definitely pained, but she was pleasant as she spoke to the other girl. “Hi. What can we do for you?”

“I was wondering if you,” she pointed to Allura, “If you would be willing to critique Bobo here. We’ve been in like 20 shows and he hasn’t even gotten a ribbon. I asked some of the folks and they said you would be the person to ask.”

Allura looked at the oversized miniature pinscher with the noticeable overbite, and demurred. “I’m not the best person at all,” she stated. “You should really talk to his breeder, or some of the other min pin exhibitors. I’m surprised anyone would suggest me, when there are so many people in the breed present at this show. You should really talk to one of them.” She indicated a motor home two spaces down that had a large number of min pins currently relaxing in a large ex pen. “Perhaps you could...”

The girl cut her off. “Ok. Well see, the thing is I have talked to those folks, and all the others showing min pins today, but they were all negative about Bobo. They all said he wasn’t show quality, but I figure they are just jealous I got a good dog at the pet store, instead of buying from one of them. And I saw y’all handling min pins, and lots of other dogs, and you won a lot, and then you got Best in Show, so I figured you would be who I should ask.”

Allura was beginning to look uncomfortable, at least to Lotor. He knew better than anyone that she was far more comfortable dealing with dogs than people, so he stepped in. 

“I’m sorry, miss, but I think...”

“Romelle,” the girl interrupted him. “My name is Romelle.” She flashed a huge smile at Lotor, and was now completely ignoring Allura. She thrust her chest out, nipples visible under the thin material of her tank top. She waved her hand towards him as though he should kiss it, but he ignored it. 

“Ah yes, miss....ah....Romelle, we really don’t critique dogs unless you’re a client.” He glanced behind her at the sun that was steadily heading towards its nadir, then added, “And now isn’t really a good time anyway. So if you don’t mind?” 

The girl’s pleasant, if pushy, demeanor changed instantly. “All you snotty dog show people are the same. I would think that folks like you two might be more respectful.” 

Allura gripped Lotor’s hand then, giving it a firm squeeze. “Not worth it,” she said quietly. Then, to the girl. “You should go now.”

“Fine!” The girl practically shouted. “I don’t know why I thought talking to a pair of...”

The rest of the sentence was irrelevant. She had used that word, the racial epithet, the word that let them both know that she simply wasn’t worth talking to. They watched, faces expressionless, as she stomped off, dragging the unfortunate Bobo after her. Several exhibitors nearby overheard the outburst, and shook their heads disbelievingly. 

The young couple sat in silence for a moment, then Allura said, “I guess she thinks that outfit will keep the judges from noticing her dog’s overbite.”

Lotor laughed at that, a deep, throaty sound that Allura loved. The sun was starting to set, and they sat in quiet companionship, drinking their daiquiris. The smell of grilled meat began to fill the air as many of the exhibitors began to prepare dinner. Most shows, Allura and Lotor would join other exhibitors for dinner, but Lotor had said he wanted to cook something special tonight, just for the two of them. Suddenly he stood up. “Back in a minute, beautiful. Gotta go check the jambalaya. It should be about ready.”

From inside the motor home, Allura heard kitchen sounds, and then the opening notes of their song, the song they had danced to at prom, the song playing the night they had taken that most intimate step that celebrated their love for each other, the song she thought she would like to be played if they ever decided to...

“All of me,  
Loves all of you....”

Lotor came back outside a moment later, but instead of two bowls filled with the cajun favorite he was preparing, he had in his hands a small velvet box, tied with a small pink ribbon. He placed the box on the folding table next to her chair, but when Allura went to reach for it, he took her hands in his. Allura’s eyes got huge as he sank to the ground on one knee, staring intently into her violet eyes. 

“Allura Castle,” he began, his words catching in his throat. “Allura Castle, I love you more than I love life itself. And my life would become immeasurably more perfect if you would agree to marry me.” He handed her the box and she opened it. Inside was his mother’s ring, reset in a more modern setting. She was speechless. 

Her eyes glistened, and she nodded wordlessly at this man she couldn’t imagine living without. Then she launched herself out of her chair and tackled him, knocking him backwards so that they were tangled in a heap on the picnic blanket. She answered his question with deep kisses and a few tears, and he responded in kind. His ring on her finger sealed their promise to each other, as their love had already bound their hearts. From around them came applause and congratulations from those exhibitors nearby who had witnessed his proposal. 

...................

“I love you,” she murmurs against his lips, hands creeping around his neck to pull him closer. The crowd of well wishers, substantial as the rumor of their engagement made its way throughout the show grounds, had thinned, then dispersed. They were once again alone, together. Dinner was eaten, the dishes washed and put away, the dogs walked and settled in for the night. 

“I will always love you,” she says as his strong arms pull her slender form close to his. There, in the dark, they hold each other close, swaying to the music from the stereo, lost in this moment. Engaged. They are engaged. Lotor Galra, her best friend since she was 6, boyfriend since she was 15, is now her fiancé. 

The song ends, their kiss deepens, she presses soft kisses into his neck, his throat. “Let’s get it on”, he croons along with the next song. He nibbles at her ear. She has goosebumps. She feels his erection through the thin fabric of her dress, presses herself into him. Lotor sweeps Allura up into his arms, carries her through the door of the motor home, his emotions in high gear, his desire matching hers in intensity. 

Their clothing are discarded, their limbs are entwined, mouths and hands giving and taking pleasure. They had taught each other about lovemaking, on her 18th birthday. Their bodies know each other. 

“God’s, Allura,” he growls as he thrusts deeply into her, “You feel so damned good.”

Allura, a sheen of perspiration covering her body, is near exhaustion from the climax he had pulled from her body with his mouth and tongue, a climax that leaves her crying his name, her hands tangled in his hair, the sheets beneath them soaked. He enters her then, while her sensitivity is at its peak, thrusting with deep, slow strokes angled to awaken another sensitivity. She’s gasping, grabbing at him, trying to regain some control, but in this moment, she is his, and his to pleasure. He rolls over then, taking her with him. In this position, he knows exactly how to tease her tumescent clit with the fingers of his right hand as he thrusts into her, knows how to steady her with his left hand so that his cock strokes her most sensitive spot inside. She climaxes again, her orgasm rolling through her like a surge of electricity, head thrown back, her release profound; legs shaking, eyes closed, lips parted, breaths shallow and rapid. She falls forward. Her hands brace against his broad, furred chest, a waterfall of silky white hair spilling over her breasts, hiding her face. He loves seeing her like this, wild, inhibitions abandoned, a goddess. His goddess. He wants to breed her, to claim her, to keep her. He tells her. 

She pulls off of him then, saying nothing. She watches his eyes roll back into his head as she strokes the length of his rigid cock, teases the head with gentle fingers. She loves the size of him, the length, the thickness. She removes the condom they had been using, tosses it in the trash, worships his cock with her wet and eager mouth, her tongue pressing against the frenulum, then tracing the ridge around the head. He gasps, and groans. Her mouth is magic. She brings him close, hears him moan, trails kisses up the smooth expanse of his rippled abdomen, breathes words into his ear. “Cum inside me.”

Something primal in him awakens, and he is inside her, coupling with her fiercely, more animalistic than before, pinning her hands to the mattress as he thrusts deeply, forcefully, ready to plant his seed inside of her.  
Her eyes are closed. He needs her to see him, to be sure. He is ready to explode, ready to breed her, but he has to know. 

“Allura, look at me,” he growls. Her eyes open languidly. “Are you sure? Are you sure this is what you want?” He thrusts into her hard then, emphasizes the point. He is close, so close, but he has to be sure. 

Violet eyes, clear and direct stare into his. She wiggles her hips, wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him even deeper into her warmth. “I’m like a bitch in heat for you.” She shocks him, excites him even more, he is going to lose control. “I need you, need you to breed me. Please?” Her breathy pleading has done him in. He thrusts into her, hard and fast, his climax twisting from the center of his being, his seed spilling into her. 

They hold each other as they sleep. They are sated, exhausted, in love. Engaged. And they have to be up in 4 hours to get ready for 8 o’clock ring times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Young handlers are eligible to compete in Jr. Showmanship at 9 years old, aging out on their 18th birthday. The Juniors ring is an excellent place to learn the finer points of dog handling. Children as young as 6 or 7 may be allowed to participate in the Juniors ring at “puppy matches.”
> 
> 2\. There is no age limit for showing dogs in regular conformation classes. If a child of 6 can adequately control their dog, and follow the judge’s instructions, they can exhibit in the regular classes. 
> 
> 3\. Competition in dog shows is intense. Professional handlers compete alongside amateurs, and everyone is there to win. 
> 
> 4\. I got comfortable writing smut. 
> 
> 5\. The chapter title is from the song “Alone Together” by Fall Out Boy. 
> 
> 6\. Thank you for reading.


	4. Best Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zarkon Galra meets the girl of his dreams, but things don't go according to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was hard to write and may be hard to read, but I think it lays the foundation for Lotor's dysfunctional and abusive childhood. Please be aware that it contains mentions of unwanted pregnancy and abortion.

It wasn’t love at first sight, though when anyone asked, he always said it was. The fact of the matter was that it took maybe 10 minutes for Zarkon Galra to decide that he would marry the young scientist working for Altea Aerospace Engineering, the company owned by his friend Alfor Castle. He was immediately struck by her looks - tall and slender, dark brown skin, long lilac hair, captivating eyes that changed from pale blue to violet depending on the light. There were lots of pretty women in the world, pretty women who were nothing but trouble, looking to mess up a man’s head and take his money. He knew she had to be smart, because Alfor only hired the best and brightest minds. So she was pretty, and smart, but again, the world was full of smart, pretty women that failed to capture his interest. But then she spoke, and Zarkon knew that he had to have this woman.

  


Her voice was soft, and she spoke with a genteel southern accent: the kind that came with wealthy parents and good breeding, private schools,elite summer camps with horses, college sorority memberships. This was not the irritating drawl of the southerner commonly lambasted and ridiculed in media, a thick and stupid accent that was meant to suggest inbreeding, cheap beer, and confederate flags hung in the windows of rusted out single wide trailer homes. On the contrary, her barely discernible drawl and its inclusion of additional syllables to such common words as”chairs” and “here” was the accent of elegance and old money. And it was a world away from the vocal patterns he had struggled to hide from everyone once he had left the backwoods that was his birthplace. All that was left now was a lilt, a drawl, an occasional deliberately used colloquialism that most found charming and hard to place. He preferred it that way, wanting no reminder of the poverty - financial, emotional, and intellectual - that had, in his mind, unfairly characterized his childhood. He was a man who had made himself, had  remade his history, was making a future in spite of his pedigree. And this woman would join him on his journey, he decided. 10 minutes was all it took, and he just knew.

  


Her name was Honerva Chastain, and her field was biocomputing.  Her research at Altea Aeronautics involved something that could potentially alter the course of history, Alfor stated with obvious excitement: a crossover into the world of nuclear physics, attempting to stabilize super heavy elements using DNA pathways.Top secret, added Alfor, though he didn’t worry about sharing this small amount of information with his good friend. Zarkon had often been the recipient of Alfor’s secrets, and he felt his friend was given to bouts of irrational enthusiasm.  Still his interest was piqued, in both this woman and her research. This was a woman worthy of his attention. He was so certain that she was perfect for him that his usual aplomb deserted him, and he was left staring at her, open mouthed and foolish. He retreated, uncharacteristically awkward, his mouth dry and his heart racing. 10 minutes, and Zarkon Galra was smitten.

 

It took a great deal more than 10 minutes for Honerva. She seemed confused by Zarkon’s attention, and not the least bit flattered. “No thank you,” was her answer to his requests for dinner, a movie, coffee. No explanation, no prevarication, simply, “No thank you.”  A less determined man would have let her alone, but Zarkon had never been a less determined man. Somehow, he took her lack of interest as a challenge, and he stepped up his pursuit, to the point of having Alfor speak on his behalf. Whether she took this as a quid pro quo to her continued success and employment was unknown, but following Alfor’s intercession, Honerva capitulated.

 

Things weren’t perfect. Honerva’s self-imposed work schedule meant that free time was scarce, and she didn’t seem to want to make more time to spend with him. She didn’t cook, and her apartment was usually a mess. She made little effort to be pretty for their dates. She was a beauty, but Zarkon was sure she would be even more beautiful if she took a little effort with her appearance, if she would be just a bit more feminine. Then there was Kova. Zarkon and the cat hated each other on sight, Zarkon recoiling when he first met Honerva’s pet. “You have a cat,” he stated unnecessarily through a strained smile. Honerva’s reaction to his obvious distaste for the feline caused him to remain silent on the topic of Kova thereafter, but he decided in that moment that Kova would never live under his roof.

 

In spite of her flaws - minor ones, Zarkon assured himself - he continued to pursue her. She was more perfect for the position of Mrs. Zarkon Galra than any woman he had ever met. She was equal in beauty to Alfor’s wife Melenor, but unlike the spouse his friend had chosen, Honerva held a good paying job in a respected field. Zarkon knew that Melenor was very involved in charity work; she had even roped him into several weekends of building houses for the less fortunate, and she had organized numerous fundraising drives for various children’s charities. But the majority of her time, and a large portion of Alfor’s money, seemed to revolve around dog shows, a hobby the appeal of which was completely lost on Zarkon. Honerva had no hobbies, and no passions outside of work. She had never even dated anyone before him, which meant she was untouched. He couldn’t imagine anyone more perfect for him.

  
  


“No thank you.”  The smile slowly faded from Zarkon’s face as he stared, disbelieving, at the woman he had just asked to marry him. He was suddenly grateful that he had decided against a more public proposal, opting to pop the question as they sat on the sofa in her apartment watching a documentary on global warming, with only take out containers and Kova as witnesses to her refusal.

 

Whatever reaction he had expected to his proposal and the three carat diamond he offered, this was not it. They had been dating for almost 6 months, he had met her family, and got on well with her parents. They were perfect for each other, and they were in love; marriage was the logical next step. He had thought she would be delighted; he was a catch, after all, tall and good looking, with a head full of thick blond hair. He was wealthy, he owned his own very successful company, and he was willing to overlook her flaws. And in all honesty, she wasn't getting any younger.

 

“I don’t want to get married,” she said, in case saying no thank you hadn’t been a clear enough. “I like my independence, I love my job. I do not want children.” She paused, watching Zarkon’s expression with some concern. He looked as though he had forgotten how to breathe. “So, no thank you.”

 

Zarkon slid the ring into his jacket pocket, unsure how to proceed.  He had a plan, he always had a plan, but now he was at a loss. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, lacking its usual bluster and bravado.  “Honerva, I love you. I can’t imagine my life without you.” His voice cracked, his visage shaken. He looked almost soft, and Honerva felt a surge of affection for him. She did love him, especially in his rare unguarded moments, but marriage to him  was never something she had considered. She knew very few happy married couples, and they were happy now, unmarried. She had told him before about her aversion to the notion of traditional marriage, and thought he had understood, even thought he agreed with her.

 

“I’m worried,” she admitted. “Dating is one thing, but being married-” She trailed off, unable to complete the sentence that was swirling in her head.

 

“We won’t be like other couples,” he said.  “I won’t try to change you, and you won’t try to change me. We’ll be happy.” He took her hands in his, his gaze steady and unwavering as he silently willed her to say yes.

 

“Zarkon, I…”  When he looked at her like that, rational thought was dispelled, her objections and concerns rendered trivial. She did love him, and maybe they would be different from all the husbands and wives that spent so much time complaining about their spouses. Her family would definitely approve, especially as Honerva was approaching 30. She knew he loved her, and she felt comfortable in his presence, usually. Maybe her determination to remain single was silly and unfounded. And if it didn’t work, there was always divorce. She said yes.

 

Zarkon Galra was a man with plans, and now he was a man with a finance. Life was good, he thought, as he slid the ring onto her finger. He kissed her then, passionately, his desire for her stirring.  He resolved in that moment to expedite the wedding plans, to claim the virginity she had held on to for so long. He had waited this long, and he supposed he could wait until their wedding night, provided it was soon. She settled against his broad chest, her slender frame seeming even smaller in contrast to his bulk, admiring the ring that now adorned her finger. Zarkon smiled at her admiration, then dropped a chaste kiss on the top of her head. Life was indeed good.

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  


“Wait a moment,” Honerva called to her husband. “I forgot the gift.”

Zarkon thrummed his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel as he awaited Honerva’s return. They were running late, due to the fact that she was so damned sexy coming out of the shower, but now he was ready to get going. She was just a moment, returning to the black Jaguar with a pink and white gift bag tied with a ridiculous amount of pink and white ribbon. She tossed the bag into the back seat and settled herself into the car. Zarkon noticed with annoyance that her pants were covered in black hair from Kova. Sighing, he reached into the glove compartment and pulled out the lint roller he kept stashed there.

 

Honerva absentmindedly  swiped the adhesive over her pants, used to Zarkon’s dislike of cat hair covered anything, and unfazed by it. Once she made it clear that she and Kova were a package deal, Zarkon had relented and allowed the cat to live with them. While he had no affection for the feline, he tolerated it, and even allowed it to sleep on their bed.

 

Zarkon took the lint roller from her, and finished the job himself, then placed it back in the glove compartment.

 

“Seat belt,” he instructed, refusing to start the car until Honerva had complied. She was so absent minded about routine matters, Zarkon wondered how she had survived before he was around to instruct her. His wife was brilliant, but had little common sense. She was saying something.

 

“Hmmm?” he murmured, distracted by the road.

 

“What is the infant’s name,” she asked. He had told her three times what the Castles had named their baby. He told her again, and she muttered something under her breath in response.

 

“What’s that, darling?” he asked.

 

“I don’t care for that name at all,” she stated flatly. “It sounds like a stripper name.”

 

Zarkon smirked, then laughed outright. “I suppose it does, but _please_ do not tell your boss that his baby daughter has a stripper name.” There was every danger that Honerva would do just that, in spite of how inappropriate such a comment would be. Sometimes it seemed that she was aggressively awkward, delighting in creating uncomfortable silences. He still couldn’t decide whether it was intentional, the way she wandered through conversations and situations, seemingly oblivious to social constraints. Either way, he often found it necessary to provide the filter she lacked.

 

“I’m serious, Honerva,” he stressed. “Do not say that to the child’s parents.” If his voice sounded a bit too firm, it was because she needed it. Sometimes Honerva was more like a willful child than a grown woman, and it fell to him to correct her. She fell silent, as she always did when he took that tone with her, and they continued the drive without speaking.

 

All things considered, the visit was a success. The gift, a red and gold Zarkon Industries cap and t-shirt, was way too large for the little girl, but Melenor was gracious and even placed the over large hat on the child’s head. Honerva, to her credit, said nothing about baby Allura’s name, much to Zarkon’s relief. Typically, Honerva showed little interest in the baby, and was largely silent as the others talked.  What surprised everyone was Honerva’s reaction to the small dog curled up on the sofa next to Melenor. Honerva was so captivated by the creature that Melenor handed the baby to Alfor and took Honerva to visit the kennels. Even though they often met the Galras for dinner, this was the first time the two women seemed to share a common interest, and Melenor was determined to take advantage of this. Dinner conversations tended to be very dull as far as she was concerned, generally dominated by their husbands. Those double dates would definitely be improved if she and Honerva could find something to talk about.

 

“Watch out, my friend,” Alfor joked with Zarkon. “This is how it starts, with one puppy, then the next thing you know you’re spending weekends driving to the gods know where to show a bunch of dogs.”

 

“Oh, not to worry,” Zarkon replied. “Honerva barely has time for anything besides her research. We won’t be getting a dog any time soon, if ever.” Zarkon extended his finger to Alfor’s daughter, and grinned when the baby grabbed it.

 

“A puppy is good practice for parenthood,” suggested Alfor, watching the interaction between his daughter and Zarkon. “This little one has been a breeze compared to a litter of puppies. And far more rewarding.”

 

“I can imagine fatherhood is quite rewarding,”  Zarkon acknowledged.

 

“I know she’s just a baby,” continued Alfor, “But I can just imagine her one day being in charge of my company. It just gives me hope, gives me more of a reason to want to succeed.” The baby was becoming restless, and Alfor began to bounce her on his knee to distract her. Zarkon watched the father and daughter, and for the first time, felt envious of his good friend. He and Alfor had always been competitive, but Zarkon normally came out on top: first with better grades and prettier girlfriends, then with a bigger house and more exciting car. Alfor had married first, but now Zarkon had Honerva, so again he had come out on top. Alfor had changed things by having an infant, however. Alfor had produced an heir, someone to hand the reins of the company when the time came - someone to continue all of his work. Zarkon wasn’t comfortable with the notion of being bested by his only real friend.

 

Melenor and Honerva reappeared as Zarkon was pondering the notion of fatherhood, Honerva now cuddling the tiny Italian greyhound in her arms. Allura began to wail when she saw her mother, ignoring her father's attempts to comfort her.

 

“I think she’s hungry,” Melenor said, taking the baby from Alfor.

 

“Melenor is breastfeeding,” Alfor said,beaming at his wife and daughter as they settled on the sofa to nurse. That was their cue to end the visit, Zarkon surmised, and they said their goodbyes.

 

Honerva was almost giddy on the ride home, rambling on about the kennels, the litter of puppies she had seen, and all the awards the dogs had won.  Zarkon was only half listening. He had seen the kennels, and had even been convinced to attend a local dog show; none of it interested him.

 

“I want one,” he blurted out when she finally stopped talking.

 

“Really?” Honerva flashed him a huge smile, something not usual for her. “Me too! I told Melenor there was no way you would let me have one of the puppies, but I guess I was wrong! They can’t leave their mother yet, but they will be ready in another month, and…”

 

Zarkon cut her off.  “No, I don’t want a puppy. You were right about that. And if I ever got a dog, it wouldn’t be one of those shivery little rats they like so much, it would be something big and scary, to live outside, protect the house.”

 

Honerva’s face fell. She had already started thinking about names for their puppy, but apparently they weren’t going to have one. “What were you talking about, then?” she asked him, confused. Surely he didn’t mean…

 

“A baby, darling. We should consider having a child, maybe more than one.” Alfor only had the one, and it was a girl. Zarkon could imagine himself with a son, maybe two, tall and sturdy, and in every way superior to a daughter. He would be on top again when he had a son.

 

Honerva said nothing, and turned to look out the car window.  She would not even address the issue of children. They had both agreed to remain childless, neither of them having any strong positive feelings about children. They used condoms each time they had sex to ensure there were no surprise, unwanted, pregnancies. She would no more change her mind about this than he would about a puppy.

 

As it turned out, they never had to have another discussion about becoming pregnant. Zarkon was a man with a plan, and as of now his plans included a child. It took only a few minutes to imperceptibly adulterate an entire box of condoms so that they would no longer provide a barrier to conception, and it was far easier than trying to persuade his wife to agree to provide him an heir. She would have been furious had she known; she might have even divorced him, in _spite_ of the draconian prenuptial agreement they signed a few moments before they exchanged vows. She didn’t need to know; and as his wife, Zarkon reasoned, she owed him a child. This was a good plan, he thought to himself. A very good plan.

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

It had been a mistake, he realized: a belated realization that did little to ease the unfamiliar remorse he was experiencing. Zarkon finished his drink, poured another from the bottle, and finished that one as well. Things were not going as planned.  Honerva had almost died - had _been_ clinically dead before being revived - and was now in a medically induced coma on life support. The infant, two months premature and likely afflicted with what the doctors gently referred to as “developmental delays” was as unlike the child Zarkon had imagined as was possible.  It looked nothing like him, having Honerva’s white hair and skin far darker than he had imagined. It wasn’t that he _minded_ the infant’s skin tone, it’s just that it was darker than he had anticipated. He thought a biracial infant might be lighter skinned.  More than that, it was tiny, so very small, and very weak. At this moment, it too was fighting to stay alive in the neonatal intensive care unit. Zarkon poured himself another drink.

 

What had gone wrong? _He_ was strong and healthy. Honerva was strong. Why couldn’t she carry the pregnancy to term? Perhaps, he thought briefly, it was because she ignored her doctor’s recommendation that she stop working.. No, that couldn't be it. Honerva assured him that there was no chance the fetus would be injured by her continued research, and he knew she had to be right. Was it that she hadn’t even known she was pregnant until her fourth month - by then, too late for an abortion.  He had known, or at least suspected, far earlier, but he didn’t mention it because he didn’t want abortion to be an option. Was it _his_ fault? Another brief thought that was easily abandoned. He couldn’t be at fault, because he didn’t make mistakes. It hadn’t been a mistake to trick his wife into pregnancy;  it was normal and natural for a man to want an heir. Not his fault, not Honerva’s fault, but _someone_ was to blame. Life showed him that there was always someone to blame, and that the one at fault needed to be punished. The doctors, then? But no, it wasn’t that simple. They had made recommendations that he and Honerva decided to ignore.

 

Finishing the rest of the bottle, Zarkon continued to ponder who was at fault for ruining his plan to produce a son to inherit his financial and industrial empire. Inebriation brought clarity, and shame, and self pity in no small measure. He had forced this pregnancy on his unwilling wife: _he_ was the reason she and the infant were now near death. But no. He opened another bottle of well aged scotch, poured another drink. Self pity overtook the sense of shame, and gave way to anger that his plans had been thwarted. He deserved a child, a healthy son to be his heir. If he had to coerce or deceive his unwilling wife, it was justified. He wanted her, he wanted a child. There was nothing wrong with what he had done.

 

Thereafter came a thought that settled itself firmly into his alcohol addled mind. He was perfect. Honerva, minor flaws aside, was perfect. The only imperfection was the infant. He and Honerva were both strong, both smart, both free of mental deficiencies. The infant, however - the premature, underweight, ‘developmentally delayed’ infant - was the problem. If he felt any shame, it was because the _infant_ was flawed, not because of anything he had done. He couldn’t stomach the thought that he was to blame, and could not accept that he should be ashamed for impregnating his wife against her stated objections. No, it wasn’t his fault, and it wasn’t her fault. Another drink, then rage. The _infant_ was the source of his shame. The infant, Lotor they had agreed to name it, was what thwarted his plans. The infant. Lotor.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The chapter title is from "Best Laid Plans" by James Blunt.
> 
> 2\. Thank you so much for reading. All feedback is welcomed.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. This au assumes American Kennel Club (AKC) rules govern, because that’s what I know about.  
> 2\. AKC licensed clubs must perform public service, and many clubs do this by offering free conformation classes that the public can attend to learn to show their dog.  
> 3\. A “blown coat” is a coat that is thin and ratty looking, usually as a result of seasonal or hormonal changes.  
> 4\. All male dogs being exhibited must have two testicles normally descended in the scrotum. Young dogs often pull one or both testicles back up inside their bodies when they are being examined, which will result in an excusal from that day’s competition. Three excusals result in permanent disqualification from the show ring.  
> 5\. Only happy dogs make good show dogs, so show dogs are among the best cares for and most indulged animals on the planet.  
> 6\. Please ask questions or leave comments or kudos, if you are so inclined.  
> 7\. I can’t find anyone to read this so I hope it’s ok.  
> 8\. Chapters 2 and 3 are almost complete, and they contain Lotor!  
> 9\. Thank you so much for reading this. It means the world to me.


End file.
